Mary Scamander
by Aviaries
Summary: Newt and Tina Scamander's daughter, Mary, is like none other. She's intelligent and kind and practically perfect. Well, almost. She's plagued with strange letters, hidden intentions, and mysteries that seem to unfold, one right after the other. (*please read and review*)
1. Beginnings

_A/N: This is a gift for Loes ([tumblr] savingpltravers) for Christmas. She has an idea that Mary Poppins is Newt and Porpentina's (from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them) daughter. Here's the beginning of a story that I've been working on for her. Enjoy._

* * *

On the coldest first day of November that London had ever seen, a girl was born into the world already able to understand the wind and speak to the sparrows.

The girl was soft and sweet, but also knowing, for the birds and leaves spoke to her in her cradle.

In the days that she was left in her crib, the leaves told her about how the world was dangerous and sad, and how as you grew, you would slowly forget your memories of being able to understand. The girl didn't want to forget, and quick as she had decided that, a mystical wind blew into the room, blessing her. Her mother felt the wind, but the wind didn't speak to her. It only mussed her short black hair. The mother, Porpentina Scamander, had no idea what was to become of her daughter.

The girl's name was Mary. She resembled her mother a bit, but with a face that much more likely belonged on a Dutch doll. The girl's father thought she was the most perfect girl in the world. Both of her parents were rather good to her. They taught her simple magic, and they swore to never shun her for what she could do.

What her parents taught her, the breeze also taught her. No wizard she knew could talk to the wind, and when she finally asked the wind why she could understand, the wind simply whistled in her ear.

* * *

Mary looked around the platform worriedly.

The other students, well, some of them, seemed anxious as well.

"Are you sure you want to go to Hogwarts?" Tina was clenching her fists, a habit she acquired from gripping her wand in situations of extreme stress. Newt also seemed a bit on edge.

"There's always Ilvermorny," Tina tried.

Mary shook her head. "No, Hogwarts is the place," she declared. She glanced around and saw a girl who seemed on the verge of tears.

She knew why they were all nervous about it. About her going. A girl had died last year. The year? 1943. Mary was 11, about to board the train. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts.

"They caught the person who did it," Mary said, feigning confidence. "The school is still open because of that."

"Yes, but I'm not so sure that… Rubeus Hagrid… was the one," Newt explained. "You're so young, we don't want you hurt or threatened." He was such a loving father. Mary could wish for no better. Charming, witty, a little awkward, he was a lot like Mary was.

Mary stood proudly in her navy coat with silver buttons white button-down shirt with light blue polka dots, and her black, knee-length skirt.

Newt had been pushing her trunk along, Tina had been holding her owl. Students were boarding the train. Some were cautious, some were exuberant, some older ones a little sad.

The spring of 1943 was a tragedy, some said, due to the death of Myrtle Warren, a 14-year-old girl.

It was the cause of The Great Summer Scamander Debate. Was Mary to attend the school where a murder had occurred? Mary had tried to convince her parents that she would be completely safe, and eventually, and reluctantly, they agreed.

Tina handed Mary her owl while Newt hauled her trunk aboard a luggage car. Tina, feeling very sentimental, touched Mary's face, like she was memorizing it. It was a bit cliché, but if it was something Tina felt like she had to do, Mary wouldn't object. Her parents meant the world to her.

The whistle blew and Newt ran off the train, enveloping Mary in a hug that she was both relieved and embarrassed by. "I'll miss you," he told her.

Mary hugged back fiercely and told him, "I'll miss you, too."

And she broke the hug and ran up the stairs of a passenger car. A quick flash of a smile, and Mary was going to be whisked away on a brand new adventure.


	2. Year One Starts

The 1943-1944 school year was miserable for Mary.

The poor girl suffered awfully at the hands of her classmates, aside a select few. Most prominent to her struggles was a boy by the name of Lukas Bishop, who was rumored to be related to the house of Black somehow. Furthermore, none of the girls her age seemed to be terribly interested in getting to know her. In fact, her only claim to any sort of fame was her father and mother's stance as heroes. Heroes. Mary didn't like it when people called them that. Not because they _weren't_ heroes, but because they were supposed to be _her_ heroes.

* * *

"You're Newt Scamander's daughter, right?"

Mary was jostled from her thoughts as she looked to the doorway of her train compartment. There stood a boy, shorter, a little stocky, with wide dark eyes, wild dark hair, and a dark complexion that made Mary wish that she had darker skin to match the richness. He looked beautiful, or rather, handsome. Although, to be honest, Mary was less concerned with someone's physical beauty and more with their inward beauty

"Yes. Mary Scamander. It's nice to meet you."

"Henry Chandler. My father works a small stand in Diagon Alley near Flourish and Blotts. I think I saw you at a book signing."

Mary nodded and sunk a little in her seat. Persephone tilted her head at Mary's sudden embarrassment.

"Oh. Yes."

That day was not much of a standout for good reason. It was hot and miserable because Mary was supposed to be shopping for books with her father, a simple father-daughter bonding activity, when a few zealous fans stopped him for a signing. Since first-years were required to own Fantastic Beasts, every one of them that discovered who he was asked and begged for his autograph. Mary was quickly sharing her father and relinquishing their time together for some students that had only just realized who he was. Fake fans. The nerve.

"I wanted to say 'hello' to you because you looked lonely, but I didn't want to intrude. Your dad seemed nice, but I didn't get his signature. I felt a little bad about the whole thing."

Mary smiled at him. "Thanks. I guess we just weren't expecting the crowd."

"I was trying to pay attention during the event. I never caught your name, I guess. I should be more observant, but I spend a lot of my time sleeping while standing up."

Mary seemed perplexed. "How does that happen?"

The boy shrugged. "I have chronic narcolepsy. It's just something I've dealt with all my life. Constant irregular sleeping hours and sudden urges to sleep. It's awful."

She smiled sympathetically.

He motioned to the seat across from her. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Not at all."

He sat with her for a few moments before blurting, "I love your hair."

Mary instinctively reached up to touch it. It was smooth and silky, but also a little wavy despite being kept up in a bun. Her bangs, well, sort-of bangs, swept evenly down the center to make two curled veils of hair that framed her face.

"Thank you," she replied politely.

"You know… I've read lately that you've been quite active in the magical community with children. You seem to enjoy being with them during parties."

"How would you know that," Mary asked skeptically.

Henry seemed to waver. "It was in a _Prophet_ article about your father. He was holding that publishers' gathering at your house and the reporter took a rather lovely picture of your with the editor's daughter and son. You were making origami cranes hover in the air and fly."

"Oh."

"Did you get a letter telling you that you couldn't do magic outside of school?" He was awfully curious.

"I haven't been to school yet. And it wasn't a spell?" She glanced around uncertain. "I've just seemed to have a gift for party-tricks, you understand?"

Henry just nodded. "I'm a bit underpowered," he admitted. "My older brother, Matthew, he seemed to get all the talents. I think my mum likes him best."

"I'm an only child," Mary told him. "But my mother and father are saying that they are thinking of having another. I think my father's wanting a son to share secrets with, considering my mother and I outnumber him when we're voting on places to eat and books to read as a family. But they reassure me that they love me no matter what."

"Sounds nice. I think my parents wanted a daughter. None of this male heir nonsense, just a good girl to spoil. I heard from my grandmother that if I was a girl, they would have named me Grace Helene."

"That _is_ a sensible and clever name."

They laughed together. It seemed to be Mary's glimpse of hope into having friends, but it was quickly torn away.

* * *

"MARY SCAMANDER!"

A woman in long midnight robes with silver hair called Mary's name from a scroll. Mary, nervously, walked up, acutely aware of the whispers that were circulating behind her.

As soon as the sorting hat was placed on Mary's head, the hat told her that she would be known as a hatstall.

 _A hatstall?_ Mary asked the hat confused. _What is a hatstall?_

 _It is a person who stalls the hat. Hard to sort. Devilishly hard to sort._

Mary did not like the sound of that. She closed her eyes after a minute, wishing that she could block out the whispers as well. The wind was nowhere to be found in this hall, even with the ceiling enchanted to emulate the weather.

 _You've got some brains about you. Wit and cleverness, but you're not a Slytherin. You're a brave soul, but not the sort of brave that makes up a Gryffindor. But ah! I see a love for Hufflepuff house now. Your father, was it? A Hufflepuff through and through. Good man. I remember sorting him. But your mind is so sound, you must be Ravenclaw material. Both kindness and intelligence are dominating virtues. But my dear, what_ are _you?_

Mary finally opened her eyes, seeing the old woman who had called her name regarding her kindly. The woman, though stern, appeared sympathetic to Mary's distress. Finally, Mary told the hat, _I trust you._

The hat, delighted, made a few last minute deliberations with itself and yelled out, "RAVENCLAW!"

There were polite claps from the faculty table, the four long tables, and those unsorted. Mary felt the hat removed from her head and quick as she could, escaped and made a hasty walk for a seat under the blue banners. She caught a glimpse of Henry, smiling with his newfound friends at the Gryffindor table and moved her hand over her head as if she had a headache.

A girl by the name of Rona Shepard was being sorted now, but Mary wasn't really watching. A hand was put on Mary's arm, and she looked up to see a girl with red-brown hair and green eyes smiling at her. Her prefect badge gleamed in the artificial starlight.

"I'm Allie," she said softly. "Alivia Davies, actually. Don't worry about being a hatstall. All the best witches and wizards are."

Immediately, Mary felt that it was possible to have friends, but that hope was soon crushed when a Slytherin boy caught her eye. He was tall and dark haired with piercing eyes and a frown. He stared her down intently, like he was trying to seep into her soul. His very gaze caused Mary to shudder. Allie sensed her discomfort and turned around.

"Tom, stop. You're worrying her," she said and continued on with watching the sorting. Mary turned too, just in time to see Victor Waters sorted into Gryffindor.


	3. Year One Continued (1)

The Winter of 1943 was bitter and cold.

Tina had been writing Mary nearly three times a week since Halloween. It seemed as if Tina was more homesick for Mary than Mary was homesick for home. Newt sent his regards as well, sometimes combined with his wife's, sometimes on his own. Mary's owl, Persephone, seemed to return well fed and groomed when she swooped down to drop packages or letters in the Great Hall.

* * *

Every now and again, Mary would avoid meals and study in the library. The library was like a ballroom, with great windows and rows and rows of books. The librarian was fond of her to be sure. And within a week, a ghost girl seemed to be rather fond of Mary as well.

"Anya," the ghost had said when she encountered Mary for the first time.

Mary had bowed her head slightly and replied, "Mary Scamander."

"You're rather peculiar," the ghost told her. She was thin and young, maybe eleven. She had light colored hair and a pale complexion that were only highlighted by her ghostly pallor. Anya told Mary that she was born in 1915, which was not even 30 years ago, Mary noted.

Having had brushed off the _peculiar_ remark, Mary continued to search through the books. Anya swept her body around Mary's and looked over the dark-haired girl's shoulder.

" _The Whistlers' Guide to Magic,_ " Anya read rather annoyed to have been ignored.

Sensing the irritation, Mary tried to make an effort. "Yes. I'm doing all I can to learn magic."

"But you're already- you must be good. You're in Hogwarts. They wouldn't let a squib in."

"A squib. A non-magical born to wizards?"

"Exactly," Anya confirmed. "Squibs are often looked upon as Black Sheep in families."

"That's not very fair," Mary said in reply.

Anya shrugged. "It's the way it is." She floated off to a nearby table and then through the ceiling.

Mary shook her head and went to the same table and sat down.

* * *

A similar exchange occurred the next day.

Anya seemed to be a constant presence whenever Mary was in the library, which only bothered Mary for the first week. Anya eventually proved herself a rather friendly character, and much more knowledgeable than she appeared. In fact, she could recite spells and charms and explain potions to Mary when she was reading. However, she seemed very disappointed when Mary asked how she could have known about the lesser known aspects of magic. Between the two of them, Anya confided that she could hear the wind speak as well. That she able to roughly understand birds, even if she couldn't to the same extent as Mary.

Mary seemed to brighten when informed. She couldn't believe she wasn't alone. By the second week the two had been acquainted, Anya had become Mary's fastest friend, and for that matter, the most stable and maybe only friend.

* * *

In addition, there were the scarce few who offered Mary some safety from the cruelty of bullies and injustice.

Whenever Tom saw her in the hall, Mary felt a rush of cold in her veins. In response, Allie, the prefect from the Sorting Ceremony, seemed to come to Mary's rescue. It wasn't entirely clear how Allie knew that Mary was in trouble, but she always came around. Not only that, but Allie had been a godsend when it came to questions about how things worked. The meal schedule had been brutal in the Fall because there wasn't a solid idea of when you could eat. It seemed to be classes all day until suddenly, in sync, everyone filed to the Great Hall for meals. Allie, who hated whenever anyone had the audacity to call her Alivia, walked with Mary down the corridors the first two days that they didn't have classes at the same time. Eventually Allie started to fade out, either because Mary had to learn how to do things on her own or because Allie had to attend to other issues.

So now Mary was struggling in the daytime making social interaction happen.

* * *

There were four other girls in her room with her.

She was told that they would be the same girls every year, which Mary didn't seem to upset with. They were nice enough. They just didn't invite Mary to eat with them usually. Probably, Mary thought, because she was so off-putting. No one would want to hang out with a freak who conversed with her bird and breakfast and got letters regularly from mummy and daddy.

There was one a year above who was often preoccupied with the current muggle events that Mary found particularly interesting. Her name was Felicity Bluestone and her mother was American. Since the year was 1943, the Second World War was underway. Many students were receiving word from home about family members, but few so often as Mary. And in Mary's case, they weren't even about the war.

Anyways, Felicity seemed to be bumbling through classes that she had previously received high marks in. Everyone was muttering how she may be sent home. Mary didn't believe that Professor Dumbledore would let that happen. She was too good at Transfiguration for him to not reach out to her.

* * *

That was Mary's life at Hogwarts until Winter, when she was to go home and be with her parents over holiday.

Mary was just fine with that, even if Anya was a little annoyed. Anya was to the ghosts what Mary was to the students: ostracized. In Anya's case, it was because she was so young for a ghost. She hadn't seen enough in the world of the living to be knowledgeable in the world of the dead.

"But they'll make fun of me when you're gooooone," Anya complained.

"Then go talk to Helena," Mary suggested. Mary had never tried to have a conversation with Helena, actually, but she wanted to. However, Mary wouldn't know exactly what to say. Helena, Mary knew, had a tragic past. One with another ghost in the castle. But no one talked about it in respect, apparently.

"I can't talk to Helena. She doesn't like me. And also, she's called the Grey Lady! Mary, don't go!"

 _You have to remember that Anya is eleven_ , Mary reminded herself. _That's younger that you are. And you miss home, and you don't have friends, and you…_ she stopped herself.

"I have to go, Anya," Mary said sadly, "but I will see you soon. I'll be seeing you when I return from break," she tried to reassure.

Anya, clearly upset but also understanding, nodded and swept herself through the ceiling of the library, where Mary dropped some books in the book return and went to pack.


	4. Motorcar Rides and Sudden Letters

"Mary!"

Tina ran to hug her daughter at the train station, clearly having missed her very much. Newt, the ever-doting father, came up and hugged them both.

"My little girl!" He exclaimed and squeezed. Then he released them both and took Mary's trunk and owl.

"I don't get to be named after a beast, this time?"

"Not since you rejected Niffler," Newt told her, referring to a letter he wrote around two weeks prior.

Tina smoothed Mary's hair, even though it always appeared as if it were straight. Also, Mary's clothes never seemed to be less than tidy either. Mary's appearance always seemed impeccable.

"You're taller," Newt noted.

"And I'm sure you're much smarter," Tina added.

Tina took Persephone and Newt took her trunk on a trolley. They ran through the platform barrier and soon came to a taxi where Newt piled in the trunk and Tina held the owl on her lap. The taxi driver, of course, was a wizard. His name was Alvin Westman and he knew Newt through a publishing event.

The ride in the car was awkward for the first few minutes. Alvin didn't say a word, Newt, in the front seat, kept pretending to read a note from a friend in Wales, and Tina kept stealing glances at Newt in the rear-view mirror.

This is what they did when something was on their minds. Collectively. Together. Tina wasn't very subtle about things that bothered her.

"Please just tell me what's bothered you," Mary finally said. Alvin kept driving, acting as if he hadn't heard the beginning of a conversation.

Tina sighed. "We heard that you haven't been having a good time," she said finally. "That you're not making friends."

Mary was ready to protest. "I have been making friends. Anya. And also, I'm doing well. I'm top of the class, the only less than top being Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Potions is going well, so is Charms. Especially charms."

"But that doesn't make a good school experience," Newt replied. You could tell he didn't want to say any of this. He didn't like to talk to Mary about unpleasant things. It was because she had always been a good child and rarely needed any sort of conversation about deeds or behavior. In fact, Mary was one of the most well-behaved children in Hogwarts. She always said ma'am and sir, she was punctual to everything besides lunch, and she was courteous to her classmates, even when they ignored her.

"Father, really? I'm an excellent student. I could be a great witch. I just need to focus on my studies. And Anya has been helping me. She's a great friend."

"Who is Anya," Tina asked skeptically.

"A ghost who lives in the library."

Tina looked disappointed. That _killed_ Mary. Her mother wasn't supposed to be disappointed with her. She was supposed to approve.

Mary strove for approval when it came to standards. She wanted to surpass everyone's expectations of her. She was, as the wind and birds called her, The Great Exception. Someone who could understand all the gifts that babies had before they turned one and forgot.

"I don't know if a ghost qualifies as a friend," Tina said plainly.

"A ghost makes a perfectly good friend," Mary protested. "If you haven't noticed, ghosts were once living. They're still people," she insisted.

Newt seemed to agree. He was nodding his head.

"We're just worried."

"Mother, stop. Please."

Tina looked away, out the car window. Mary realized then that there was no saving the conversation. She turned to her own window and watched England pass by.

* * *

"So how was your holiday?"

Mary was sitting in the library, nose in a book on the benefits of flowers in potions. She didn't want to talk to Anya. It wasn't because her parents said that she wouldn't make a good friend, but in fact, Mary didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Fine," she said in a small voice. Small because she felt small.

Anna looked at her with intent.

"Was there anything unusual about your trip back?"

Mary glanced up. "Not really."

"Oh."

"Do you want to tell me something?"

Anya looked away before peeking back. "I think there's a letter that came for you over break. I didn't know if you met someone new or not."

"Who has it?" Mary couldn't believe that someone would send her something. Her parents were the only ones who reached out to her.

"Professor Mason?"

Mary returned the book to the shelf and quietly walked out. Anya didn't follow her. She stayed stiff like a statue for a moment before floating away.

* * *

 _Edith._

That was the name on the return address. Except, there really _was_ no return address. The envelope was weathered and old, like it had been sitting in a drawer for years. Mary suspected that that was the case. It had a little dust on the inside.

 _Mary:_

 _I wonder who you are now. Did you know that you're constantly changing and growing? I'm sure you're a different person than when I last met you. The past was so long ago, it seems. I can't say much more now, but I hope that you're well._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Edith  
_

How peculiar.

Mary searched the paper for real messages. Edith. Did she know any Ediths? Maybe she did. Old Edith, the widow, who lived somewhere near London. But it couldn't be that Edith. So maybe it was Edith Young, the mother of Vanessa, the girl she knew growing up who didn't actually talk to her. The only other Edith was Edith Caully from the muggle bookstore, but that Edith was blind. (Her job was to suggest records based on the voice and acting.)

So Mary didn't know who was sending her letters.

"What did you get?"

It was Lukas. Lukas Bishop had funny looking scars on his cheek that Mary never quite understood. It was like a cat had scratched him, but the claws were uneven.

"A letter. What of it?"

" _A letter_ ," he repeated with a taunting sneer. "Who's it from, Scamander?"

"None of your business." She hurried away before he could retort. Or worse.

Lukas had a habit of using jinxes on people when he was upset. He would glue their feet to the floor or make it impossible to smell.

Even though she had pushed the envelope under some of her books, Mary still didn't understand who would send her such a thing. And then Mary decided that she didn't have to worry about it. It didn't have to concern her. Maybe this Edith was crazy. Mary had never met an Edith and that was that.


	5. Hogwarts Resumed

Two more weeks and six more letters from her parents.

Mary was tired of it. The first was tame. _How are you? Are you back in the swing of things? Should I send you more chocolate?_ The last one was pretty irritating. _Have you made any more friends? Ms. Frost's daughter, Samantha, is in school. You may make friends with her, even though she's a Third-Year._

The general feeling after that had been a sheer annoyance. She still wrote home, but she was less enthusiastic about it. She wrote short sentences, which were unusual for such an eloquent girl.

"They just worry," Anya told her with a small voice.

"I wish they wouldn't," Mary replied with a little bitterness. She was tired of being treated like a child. She was twelve. That wasn't even a teenager, but Mary was just ready to be given some independence.

"My parents were like that. Until my father died, at least. He decided not to be a ghost, I guess. Some people just move on."

Mary's heart went out a little to Anya. If Newt had ever died, Mary would have been devastated. Newt, as annoying as he and her mother were in their current state, was one of the lights of Mary's life. And suddenly, she felt guilty for being so irritated by her parents.

"What was he like?"

Anya smiled. "He was a hard worker. He was tall and strong, but he was fit. He was actually a muggle. He died before I turned seven, but he saw a few magical things here and there. My mother had to tell him eventually that she was a witch, but a few months after he knew the truth, well," she trailed off.

"Did he…?"

"No. No, no, no. He died in a factory fire."

Mary released a breath. "Sorry."

"I just miss him. It's been decades, and I knew that by becoming a ghost, I wasn't going to see him, but even so… I just wish I could have said goodbye."

Mary hoped that if the occasion ever came where her father had to go, she would never miss the opportunity to say goodbye.

* * *

The books spilled from her arms.

Mary felt herself bump into someone in the halls. It was probably because Mary was still thinking about what she would say to her father and mother if she ever had to have last words. Then she looked up and wondered what she would say to them now.

Dark eyes inflicted pain in her somehow. _Tom._ His dark hair was unmistakable, and not only did he glare into her soul, he actually _hissed_ at her. _Hissed!_

"Look where you're going, Scamander," he said with an unmistakably eerie voice.

Mary backed out of his way and let him pass. Then she went to pick up her books and sighed.

* * *

"You ran into Tom?"

Allie was passing Mary a plate of tarts.

"He was rather rude," Mary relayed to her.

"I see. He's not a very social creature. But some say he's the tortured type."

"Tortured?"

"I don't really understand what it means. Some just say he has a hard past."

Mary took that in. It might account for some of his behavior, but Tom was generally unpleasant to her. Mary couldn't really feel it in her to sympathize.

* * *

Just when Mary thought she could toss the letter from Edith into the fire, another one came from a disheveled owl with golden feathers.

Edith's handwriting was a sprawling cursive that looked like something out of an ancient text. Long and delicate, but also bold and defined. There were three words scrawled across the top of a piece of stationary from _The Castle Inn Hotel,_ Wiltshire.

 _Uncover Truth's Intentions._

It was a very cryptic message. Mary thought it was a waste of an owl visit, but when she looked up to ask the owl (because she could speak to birds, remember) where it came from, the owl just flew away.

 _Hiding something,_ Mary suspected. She folded the note and tucked it away in her skirt pocket. If this mystery woman was going to haunt Mary, then she would have to try harder to be taken seriously. _Edith._ Bah.

Newt was quick to send an owl to Mary the next week.

It was the fourth week of January, almost February, when Newt wrote to Mary about an owl coming to their house. A ruffled looking creature that was 'certainly an owl, but most certainly confused' arrived bearing a rather large package. An umbrella, Newt wrote. With a parrot's handle.

 _I don't understand the significance,_ Newt had written, _but it appears very well made. Solid wood, if I'm not mistaken. With something special perhaps at its core._

Mary wondered if the umbrella was a gift from Edith. That would be something. Someone else would know and it would confirm that Mary was not, in fact, crazy.

Anya was annoyed with Mary the day after she got her letter.

"Why didn't you tell me you got mail?" She whined. Anya was good at complaining when she wanted to be.

"I didn't know that you wanted to know," Mary replied simply _. That's how you deal with whining. You act like everything is nonchalant._ Sage advice from Tina.

"Who's been sending it to you," Anya asked curiously. It was a strange look. Almost a half-smile. Mary took pause, but when she looked again, it was clearly a look of puzzlement.

Mary sighed. "Some woman named Edith."

"Edith? That's a pretty name."

"I suppose so."

"So what does she want?"  
The way Anya said it was with such eagerness. Mary assumed that it was clearly because no one ever talked to her. Not really.

 _That wasn't true_ , Mary hoped. _People_ must _talk to her._

"She's a crazy old lady," Mary said in half-hearted jest.

Anya didn't think it was funny. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

Mary immediately regretted it. She wasn't much for humor anyways. "No, it isn't. I apologize. In any case, she's a woman who keeps sending me letters. I don't know why exactly, but that's how it is."

"Maybe she's met you?"

"Well," Mary admitted, "I don't know many Ediths. She's probably reaching out to the wrong person."

"I doubt that."

Mary looked after her strangely before Anya drifted away, consumed by some thought that Mary had yet to ask about.

* * *

"We're trying to establish a Charms Club," Helena Percy announced enthusiastically.

Helena Percy was a Prefect for Hufflepuff, who broke a family tradition of being in Ravenclaw. One of Helena's reasons, as she explained, was because she was dyslexic. Reading never really caught her eye, and she was more of a maternal figure than an intellectual anyways. That wasn't to say she wasn't smart, but the Percy girl was more interested in kindness than knowledge.

"A Charms Club?" Allie was intrigued. Mary was sitting next to her, eating a vegetarian Sheppard's Pie.

"You practice Charms and study," Helena explained. "I know it sounds boring, but it could actually be quite fun. And it would help the underclassmen."

Tom walked by then, giving Helena an evil expression. Helena didn't seem to shudder at all, which Mary found surprising. On the contrary, she seemed to shoot him a menacing look in return.

"You're wasting your time," he remarked. Mary knew his voice sounded like boredom and contempt and a threat all in one. "You can't possibly create a club for that."

One of the reasons, Mary thought, that Tom was so cruel to Helena was that she was a muggle-born, or at least, a muggle and a squib. Both of her parents worked in the medical field with muggle medicine, but Helena's aunts and uncles were all wizardfolk. All of them were perusing either magical medicine or advanced herbology degrees. It was a pretty sound argument, the muggle thing, considering that Mary was very good at picking out people's thoughts and feelings. She could just sense them, a strange skill that she had acquired since a young age. It had only just strengthened, although, Mary realized quickly, it didn't work on ghosts.

"We can," Helena replied. "You'll see."

Tom walked off with a speed to his step.

* * *

Mary tried not to think about Tom.

He was infuriating, and scary. When Helena Percy finally left, she muttered "git" under her breath. "The nerve", she had said with a subdued fury.

For whatever reason, Mary didn't think it wise for Helena to say such a thing. Tom had a frightening "aura" if you could call it that. He was dangerous, Mary realized with a drawn horror. What was she doing? Why did it take so long to understand that Tom was sadistic and cruel? Why was she thinking about this now?

She nearly jumped as she realized the sudden rush of fear that she was close to Tom. She was, yet again, in the hallways around the dungeon. Potions class was her next class, but she was half an hour early. Wandering was a new pastime apparently, for Mary found herself near the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The wall seemed to open, and Mary flattened herself against the wall of an offshoot hallway.

"Filthy, disgraceful," she heard. Whispering. Wait, no. Hissing. The sound like snakes. Parseltongue? But Mary wasn't a parseltongue. She was only able to speak to birds, the wind, and occasionally the stars. The stars had lovely voices.

"Unworthy. Unclean. Terrible. Horrid."

It was a bad translation. Mary could only understand the gist. Maybe snakes didn't have the exact language that humans did. She tried to press herself into the wall completely, suddenly feeling pulled and pushed at the same time. Something jolted her, and she felt the horrible energy that seemed to be clouding her thoughts vanish. Tom, speaking English now, was stalking away down the corridor.

Mary signed in relief and pulled herself back to the potions room. There was a boy with dark hair standing there.

 _Henry._

He looked like he had grown some. At least an inch, maybe two. His dark hair looked wilder, as if he hadn't gotten a haircut in months.

"Hey," he said meekly.

Mary blinked. "Hello."

"I wanted to talk to you," he admitted quietly. "I just didn't know it would be this soon."

The silence was strong for a moment before Mary replied, "alright. What is it?" It seemed as if the simple question had taken too long to say.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I haven't been here for you. I know you're struggling, but I just wanted to let you know that if you need a friend, I'm here."

Again, Mary blinked. It seemed so strange to hear that. Then it clicked. Or she thought it did.

"Did my mother owl you?"

Henry's face paled. "No."

 _Liar,_ Mary thought.

"No, really. It isn't that."

And surprisingly, Mary felt that he was telling the truth.

"Look, the reason this sparked was because Anya told me something important. The ghost you always talk to in the library? Well, she said that you've been getting letters from some woman named Edith. I want to help you. I've been getting some strange letters from someone, and I want to find out who. Maybe we could help each other out?"

Mary found herself nodding. Not because she understood, but because she was listening. It was strange to hear him say all of that out loud. Letters. What is it with letters?"

"Who are they from?"

Henry winced. "They say I'm not supposed to tell you." Then he tried to hastily correct himself. "I mean, they say I'm not supposed to tell anyone. I know that it's strange, but I just wanted someone else who's going through the same things to know. Maybe more people are getting these letters, but Anya only told me of you."

Mary nodded, decisively this time. "Alright. We'll work together. But know this, I still don't know about any of this. So I can't be of too much help right now."

Henry grinned. "That's alright. That's how friendship works."

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for reading! I don't usually put in author's notes, but I was hoping that if I wrote in something right here, you would remember to review. It would really mean a lot and I could improve my writing from honest critiques. Obviously, no flames, but good, honest critiques are well appreciated. That's it! Thanks!

A/N(2): Oh, hey! I messed something up briefly. It's fixed now, but earlier, I said that Helena had family in Ravenclaw, but also made her muggle-born. I had originally had two characters pitching the Charms Club, Helena and Adam (who I might introduce later). Adam had family in Ravenclaw and Helena was the muggleborn in the first draft. Anyways, it's fixed now. I like the idea of Helena being raised by a muggle and a squib, because I feel like squibs aren't appreciated enough. :-)


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